"What is your name, little girl?" I asked.
She gave me a quick glance from under her long lashes, and then softly answered, "Lily."
I smiled as I took her hand in mine; and then her brother said, "Her name is Lily Oliver. We come here almost every day to feed the swans, and bring flowers for mother's grave."
He glanced toward a handsome monument, close by, and Lily explained, "Mamma's in there. She's waiting for Berty and me, 'cause we're going up to God with her."
"She told us she'd wait," urged the boy, fixing his earnest eyes on mine. "Every night we pray to God to let us go quick, because we want to see her so."
There was a quiver in his voice, which brought tears to my eyes. For a moment I could not speak, my heart ached so much for these dear little ones whose mother was in heaven.
I held a hand of each as I said, "I'm sure if you are good children, and try to please the Saviour, that he will send his angels to watch over you, and at last take you, with your mother, to the happy world where he lives."
Lily smiled and nodded her head as I walked away; and presently I heard her sweet voice laughing merrily as the pretty birds sprang up to catch a crumb from her hand.
We passed one small yard almost hidden among the trees, where by the side of a low, green mound, was a flat piece of white marble, with a dog carved on the top of it.
This, our guide told us, was where a little boy was buried who had been drowned. The dog was carved like one who had tried to save his young master's life. He held the clothes of the drowning boy in his teeth, until help came, but they were so exhausted that they both died.